Educating Anne Ch. 2

Anne was in a ferment of indecision. Her position - between Kate and the side of the boat - made it very difficult to move. She would have to push past them - and where would she go? They were only allowed on this deck, and the galley, but Sofia had locked the hatchway to the galley so that she could have her siesta in peace.

She watched as Marco continued his massage. Suddenly, she realised that his fingers were disappearing under Kate's upper arms to stroke the sides of her chest. In fact, it dawned on her, the tips of his fingers must be in contact with the base of her friend's breasts. She glanced, again, at Kate. Her eyes were closed again and her breathing had quickened.

As she looked back at Marco, she could see that his whole hand was now between Kate's arm and her torso and, daring a glance at his face, she saw a look of frowning concentration as he stared down at his probing hands. Then, Kate moved her arms away from her sides and, pulling them back in, used them as levers to raise her upper torso some six inches from the deck, then as supports, to hold herself in that position.

Anne, still not daring to move, stared from her prone position at Kate's breasts, dangling just above the discarded bikini top. As if hypnotised, she watched Marco's hands run slowly up and down Kate's sides, moving, with each stroke, further under her body, until the tips of his fingers were glancing against the yielding flesh on the side of her breasts, and then, with long sweeps, running up from her belly, right over her breasts, his roughened palms rasping over her taut nipples as they continued their upward journey.

Anne thought of the Kate she thought she had known - the bright, cheerful, apparently contented Home Counties housewife, doing her shopping at Sainsbury's, joining Anne's family at a late summer barbecue, singing happily in the chorus at the latest village Gilbert and Sullivan production. That couldn't be the same person she was looking at now, half-naked, being fondled intimately by an ill-educated and none too clean Mediterranean fisherman she had never even clapped eyes on two hours previously.

Marco sat back on his heels and, with one swift movement, peeled off his T-shirt and threw it to the side. As he did so, Anne whispered urgently - "Kate! Kate! Stop this! You must stop him!"

Kate's eyes flicked open and met Anne's. She blinked once, then shook her head. She mouthed a silent "No!" at Anne, then her eyes closed once again as Marco bent over her back and, this time, took her breasts firmly in his hands and squeezed them. At the same time, he bent his head and brushed his lips against the back of Kate's neck, and Anne heard a low moan of pleasure escape her friend.

Kate twisted her head, her open mouth seeking Marco's. His lips came down on hers and, at the same time, he used his hands to turn her body to face him. Supporting herself on her arms, Kate's mouth locked on to his and her taut-nippled breasts stood proud on her arched chest until his hands claimed them once more, grasping her nipples tightly between thumb and forefinger.

He wrenched his mouth away from Kate's and, pushing her back down on to the deck, closed his lips round her left nipple, his hands roaming over her belly and her deep, dimpled navel.

Then he found the ties for her bikini bottom and his fingers groped, blindly, to undo them. But he succeeded, only, in pulling them tighter and, with a curse, sat back so that he could see what he was doing.

By now, Anne, without quite having been aware of doing so, had risen from the deck and was sitting, arms clasped round her knees, with her back to the side of the boat. Despite the sunshine, she was shivering as she watched the passionate scene being enacted almost literally underneath her.

As Marco wrestled with her bikini ties, Kate struggled to a sitting position and, Anne thought, was, at last, about to come to her senses and try to call a halt to this - this . . . . . madness! Kate stretched out an arm towards Marco, but, just as she did so, he succeeded in untying the second bow and pulled the front portion of her bikini bottom away from her belly, revealing the magnificent bush of her pubic hair.

His dark eyes widened in pleasure and admiration and his mouth split in a huge grin of appreciation, revealing impossibly white, even teeth. "Ah, Mamma mia!", he breathed. "Bellissima!" And his right hand slid between the tops of her thighs, and Kate gasped and closed her eyes. Her hand fell back to support her upper body and her thighs parted slightly to allow a probing finger to enter her receptive vagina. Marco's grin widened as his middle finger disappeared inside Kate and she moaned, loudly, as it probed deep within her. One of her hands lifted to massage her own breast and her thighs snapped shut as Marco withdrew his finger.

Scarcely daring to breathe, now, Anne could see the shiny moisture on Marco's finger as it emerged from between her friend's thighs.

As Kate's thighs closed together again, Marco lifted his right leg over them, so that he was kneeling beside her. Momentarily, Anne wondered why, then realisation dawned as his hands went to the top of his jeans and snapped open the brass button. Feverishly, he tugged at the zip then, as it descended, pulled his jeans down over his buttocks, down to his knees.

His was only the second erect male penis Anne had seen. Almost clinically, she observed that, while it did not seem to be any longer than Clive's, it was much darker, more gnarled, and at least half as thick again. It reared menacingly out of a huge nest of black curly coarse hair, almost parallel with Marco's stomach.

At first, Anne had wondered if she would be able to accommodate Clive's erection, but, now, the memory of his pink circumcised member paled into insignificance at the sight of Marco's angry-looking weapon. Anne's insides liquefied at the thought of being invaded by such an organ.

Then her thoughts snapped back to the present. Marco had shuffled round to position himself, on his knees, between Kate's legs, which he was holding apart, a hand on the inside of each of her knees.

Anne looked at Kate's face. Her eyes were fixed on Marco's penis, jutting up from his hairy belly and, Anne saw with a sense of shock, there was only anticipation in her expression, and no apprehension.

Kate lay back on the towel and, of her own accord, spread her thighs as her hands closed round her breasts, pinching and squeezing. Her voice rose. "Come on then, Marco - fuck me! Come on, you bastard - fuck me - hard!"

Her voice rising to a crescendo, she stopped, suddenly, as Marco guided his penis with his hand to the mouth of her vagina. He let the tip penetrate just enough for her to feel him poised at her entrance, and she stopped breathing.

Then he entered her slowly, deliberately, so that she was aware of each separate centimetre filling her, and her breath inhaled in sharp gasps as she took him closer and closer to his root.

Anne watched until the two magnificent pubic bushes were completely fused, then, as he fell forward on to Kate's nakedness, and her splayed legs locked round his driving buttocks, she picked her way carefully round the two writhing bodies and rushed over to the other side of the boat, where she stood, trembling, staring out to sea, trying to blot out the sounds behind her.

But she could not erase the images seared on her mind, of Marco's hands grasping Kate's dangling, naked breasts, his fingers stimulating her nipples to taut erection, his finger emerging, shiny, from between her legs, and, most unforgettable of all, his rampant penis jutting menacingly, powerfully from the thick tangle of black hair coating his belly . . . . . .

Gradually, her legs stopped shaking, and she leant against the side of the boat, staring at the reflection of the bright sun on the blue water. Her thoughts, strangely, dwelt mainly on her past romance with Clive - and, for the first time ever, she knew she had no regrets. If it had done nothing else, Kate's astonishing behaviour had proved to Anne that an unsatisfactory marriage was not for her.

She thought, with sympathy of Kate's husband, Philip, working at home. What would he have made of what Anne had just witnessed - or of the striptease for the sad German, or the episode at the filling-station? She sank into a deckchair and closed her eyes against the searing sunlight, her mind dwelling on Philip, fondly. What would he think if he could see his wife at this very moment?

Suddenly, these thoughts were driven from her mind as a rough hand plunged down past her face and forced its way under her bikini-top, grasping the soft flesh of her breast and squeezing it painfully. Anne opened her mouth in a high-pitched scream, turning her head in outrage to see the squat Roberto, yellow uneven teeth bared in a snarling smile, crouched over her.

As her scream burst forth, he clamped his other hand over her mouth, silencing her and pressing her head back into the striped canvas of the chair. Anne writhed frantically, but he was immensely powerful and held her down easily. His right hand came away from her breast, but only to tug at the material of her bikini. Grasping it tightly, he dragged it upwards and, suddenly, it was dangling round her neck and Anne’s breasts were exposed.

Frantic with outrage, Anne redoubled her struggles, but he laughed cruelly and dug his fingers into her sensitive flesh again, his finger and thumb trapping her tender pink nipple. As her head thrashed from side to side, suddenly Anne caught sight of Guido, the skipper, watching from the wheelhouse. Hope flared for only a second, as she almost instantly realised that his intense scrutiny was motivated, not by outrage, but by excitement as he watched her being violated. Then her horror redoubled as she realised that the skipper’s wife was beside him, staring at the scene below with as much evident pleasure as her husband.

Roberto’s hands were now clamped firmly over Anne’s naked breasts, squeezing them painfully, and his rank breath was searing her nostrils as his mouth slobbered over her neck and face. She screamed in panic and outrage, then subsided into a choking sob as his mouth fastened on hers.

Then she felt her right breast being released and hope flared in her, only to be overtaken by a new horror as his fingers darted down her stomach and forced themselves between her clamped thighs. Hard and inexorable, they forced themselves into the soft flesh and Anne gagged as they pushed against the material of her bikini bottom.

Roberto’s other hand descended and inserted itself under her waistband. She felt his fingers tangle in her pubic hair and arched her back, frantically. Momentarily, Roberto was thrown off balance and Anne leapt off the chair and ran, screaming, away from him.

But there was nowhere to go.

Regaining his balance, Roberto stood between Anne and the door to the galley, breathing heavily, then, suddenly, he wrenched the galley door open and disappeared inside.

Anne sank back against the side of the boat, her heart thudding wildly, her legs and hands shaking uncontrollably.

She started as a soft hand snaked round her right shoulder. "Are you all right, Anne? I’m sorry about that – I didn’t mean for you to get involved – in anything you didn’t want."

Kate's voice was low, and apologetic, but curiously - replete, Anne thought. Anne didn't take her gaze off the sea, but managed to mutter - "It’s all right. I'm O.K. now"

"Marco's gone, now," said Kate, evenly.

Anne looked round. The deck was empty, apart from a couple of deckchairs, which hadn't been there before. She felt Kate's hand take hers, and allowed herself to be led to a chair. She sank down into it, and Kate sat in the other.

"Kate . . " she started to say, but Kate had started speaking at the same time. They both stopped, and Kate laughed and said - "Let’s wait until we can get off this boat before we talk. We’re coming into the harbour now."

With relief, Anne looked over the side of the boat and saw the narrow entrance to the small harbour. The two women slipped on t-shirts and jeans and picked up their haversacks.

************************************************

Half an hour later, they were sipping glasses of wine at a small café on the side of the harbour. There had been no sign of Marco or Roberto when they had left the boat, but Guido had promised to take them back to the mainland the following day. Kate sat back in her chair and looked levelly at Anne. “O.K.” she said. “We’ve plenty of time to talk, now – fire away.”

Hesitantly, Anne mumbled - "Kate - what about Philip? Where does he fit in - with all this?"

Kate sat forward, turning her head to meet Anne's gaze. She stayed silent for a few moments, then said - "You're really shocked, aren't you? About Marco, I mean."

Anne nodded her head, slowly, biting her lip.

"If I'm honest with you," Kate went on, "will you be honest with me?" Anne nodded her agreement.

"O.K." Kate went on. "I'll ask you a question, then you can ask me one. O.K.?"

Anne nodded. She knew what the question would be. She had never actually said to Kate that she and Clive had had a full sexual relationship, and this was Kate's opportunity to find out, for sure. Well, Anne was ready to answer that one - and honestly, too, then Kate would realise that Anne's reaction to what had happened was not that of a frightened virgin.

"All right," said Kate. "Did you let Philip feel your tits - last Christmas?"

Anne's face flamed, and her eyes fell away from Kate's steady gaze. It had actually been Boxing Day, at Kate and Philip's house. It was late in the evening, and Anne and Clive, with Anne's parents, had enjoyed a convivial evening with Philip and Kate, and were on the point of leaving.

Anne excused herself, to go upstairs to the loo, before the car journey. As she emerged from the bathroom, she met Philip on the landing. She smiled at him shyly, and he produced a piece of mistletoe from behind his back, like a conjurer, with a triumphant grin.

"Time for my Christmas kiss, I think," he announced, holding the mistletoe above Anne's head in mock ceremony. Anne, with pleasure, proffered her lips for the seasonal ritual salutation and Philip bent and kissed her briefly, but warmly, without otherwise touching her. He stood back and studied her, a smile hovering round his mouth.

"That was rather nice," he murmured. "Can I come back for seconds?"

Flattered, Anne dropped her eyes and nodded. This time, he put his hands on her shoulders and planted his mouth firmly against hers. At first, the pressure of his lips was gentle, then his hands left her shoulders and his arms enfolded her. His lips pressed harder on Anne's and their bodies met. She felt her breasts being squashed against Philip's chest, then, with shocked surprise, she felt the strength of his erection push against her stomach.

Instinctively, Anne parted her lips and Philip's tongue slid between them, exploring her mouth urgently. Then she felt his hand slip down to her bottom, pushing the lower half of her body against his. Again, instinct took over, and Anne rotated her belly against his straining erection. By now, her tongue was mingling with Philip's, and her hand was in his thick brown hair, pulling his head down towards her. She was completely lost in their passionate embrace, and was only dimly aware of both his hands slipping underneath her sweater and caressing the smooth skin of her back. The feel of his fingers on her bare skin totally disarmed Anne and she moaned, softly, with pure sensual pleasure. His hands travelled right up her back to stroke the tops of her shoulders, increasing her enjoyment, and, when he deftly unclipped the fastening of her brassiere, she - almost - didn't notice.

Then, suddenly, she realised that he had eased the top part of his body away from hers and his hands were lifting the cups of her bra. Almost before she knew it, Philip's hands were closing round her bare breasts, his thumbs unerringly finding, and stimulating, her uncovered nipples.

Alarmed, Anne tried to get her hands to pull his away from her, muttering - "No! Philip!" - but his lips came down on hers again, and, despite herself, she returned his kiss, and ceased her token struggle.

If anything, she was now returning his kisses more fiercely and, indeed, she could feel herself becoming completely aroused as his lips mashed against hers. She moaned softly as his hands squeezed her breasts and, when he stood back again and lifted her sweater and bra, she did nothing to stop him exposing them, naked, to his hungry gaze.

"Oh, Anne," he breathed, no longer smiling, but staring at her firm young body with undiluted admiration. Then he bent his head and his mouth closed round her left nipple, his tongue teasing it to full erection.

"Are you ready, Anne?" It was her mother's voice, and Philip leapt back from her, pulling her sweater down, guiltily. He looked over the banister.

"I'm just waiting for her to come out of the loo!" he called down the stairs, motioning, behind his back, to Anne to go back in there. Anne needed no second bidding and dashed back into the loo, to sort out her disarranged clothing and repair her make-up before emerging a minute or so later to join her parents and Clive for the homeward journey.

In the early part of the year, she had thought a lot about that encounter, sometimes with pangs of conscience, but more often, if she were honest with herself, with a thrill of pleasure. But then had come the break-up with Clive and the incident had faded from her mind, somewhat.

But now it was back with a vengeance and Anne's face was very hot as she eventually forced herself to meet Kate's level scrutiny.

"I'm sorry, Kate," she blurted out. "I think Philip had had a little too much to drink, and ... and . . . I . . . “ She trailed off.

"And you?" prompted Kate, gently.

"I - I really don't know," said Anne, lamely.

"I think I do," said Kate. "I think you've fancied Philip for years and when, at last, he kissed you properly - like a man, and not an 'uncle' - you responded - like a woman, not a little girl."

"But I shouldn't have," said Anne, miserably. "He's married - and you're a friend - and Clive was downstairs - and . . . "

" . . . and you forgot all of that when you felt his tongue in your mouth and his hard cock against your belly! Am I right?"

"I suppose so," muttered Anne.

"And all that proves," continued Kate, triumphantly, "is that you're as open to temptation as the rest of us!"

"But - weren't you angry when you found out?" Anne asked, hesitantly. Her companion laughed.

"How do you think I 'found out'?" she asked. "After all, no-one saw you, and you didn't tell me."

Anne looked at her in puzzlement. "Well, I assume Philip must have told you - you must have guessed something had happened and . . . "

" . . . he broke down under my relentless questioning and eventually confessed all?" Kate burst out laughing, then stopped abruptly on catching Anne's baffled expression.

"As a matter of fact," Kate said, after a few moments, "he told me as soon as you had all left. As you can imagine, he was still pretty worked up about it - after all, he's been having guilty fantasies about you for the best part of two years, and he couldn't wait to tell me what your tits felt like - and looked like, with your bra and your top pulled up to your chin!"

"Actually, he took me up to the landing and re-enacted it all, with me playing the part of you - with smaller boobs, of course - but he got my knickers off, as well! You see, Anne, fantasy and tale-telling plays a large part in our sex life. We tell each other most of what we get up to - and what we think about. It can be very exciting and, let's face it, there's only so much excitement can be derived from the same old stiff prick - or pair of tits, for that matter - after a few years."